Echo
by silent-stars-go-by
Summary: They say bad things come in threes, and Julian is about to find out. Will Brooke be able to help him through it, or will he just push her away?
1. Lost Hope

**_So, I've had this idea brewing for a while, but was reluctant to post anything during the exam season. But, after having a pretty rubbish week, I thought what better way to cheer up then writing some OTH FF?_**

**_This story isn't really set in line with any other storylines. All you really need to know is Brooke and Julian are together, but not engaged, and Lucas and Peyton are together too, but she's not pregnant. So, on with the show!_**

* * *

><p><strong>1. Lost Hope<strong>

"_Beware how you take away hope from another human being." - Oliver Wendall Holmes_

The crisp late afternoon Chicago air wrapped itself around Julian as he stepped out of the studio for the last time after nearly eight months of hard work. He'd spent weeks overseeing the meticulous editing of the movie, but today the whole thing had been wrapped up nicely. It had taken longer than expected, and he couldn't wait to get back to Tree Hill, and more importantly, back to Brooke. During the months they'd had brief sporadic reunions, but both had been busy with their respective endeavours - Julian's movie, and Brooke's re-launching of her fashion line - to spend much time with each other. Sure, they'd spoken on the phone and texted as much as possible, but Julian couldn't wait to just hold her. Smiling, he whipped his cell phone out of his pocket as he began walking beneath the dipping sun, the golden light dancing playfully behind the towering sky scrapers. He flipped it open, and speed dialed the number of the only voice he wanted to hear.

"_Hello?"_

"Brooke!" Julian beamed, the sound of her voice stretching his grin wider. "How's the most beautiful girl in the world?" He didn't have to see her to know she was rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

"_Missing you."_

"Well, I might be able to do something about that," he started teasingly, "the movie's done. _Finito_. And I'm booked on the early morning flight back to you tomorrow morning." He laughed at Brooke's delighted shriek.

"_Oh Julian, you don't know how good that is to hear," _she paused, fully processing the information, before her tone turned playful. _"I'd better get planning something special for your return...or will you be too tired after your flight?"_

Julian's grin turned into a smirk. "Oh, I think I'll be just fine."

_"Do you know what time you'll be home?_"

Julian paused for thought. "Should be back around ten, if I'm lucky." He heard a muffled voice on the other end of the line talking to Brooke for a few moments.

"_Listen, Julian, I'm sorry but I'm gonna have to go. Haley and Peyton just got here."_

"Girls night in?"

"_That's the plan."_

"Well, enjoy your night," Julian said, "love you."

"_Love you too, Julian."_

Julian closed the phone slowly, sliding it back into his pocket and continuing on his journey back to the hotel. He was walking through a crowd, the busy people milling around, filling his ears with chatter about their problems and joys and issues, but he felt lonely. Julian used to be a free spirit, traveling from place to place with work, and he reveled in it. He wasn't one for staying in the same place for too long, and he enjoyed the thrill of a new city, a new sky line every month. But all that had changed as soon as he'd met Brooke. She'd become his centre of gravity, grounding him and pulling him towards wherever she was. And right now, she was in Tree Hill, the first place that Julian has ever wanted to call a home, and he wouldn't feel complete until he was back there again.

With these musings swirling in his mind, Julian found himself standing outside of a quaint little jewelry shop, its windows displaying its treasures. He pondered the trinkets, deciding on picking up a present for Brooke, but he found his eyes bypassing the earrings, the bracelets and even the necklaces, until at last they settled on the rings. And a certain type of ring in particular. Julian smiled to himself as he turned and pushed the door open, a bell chiming to announce his arrival. The room was warm, and a kindly looking old woman sat behind the counter. After noticing the customer, she rose from her seat and went to greet him.

"Hello, dear. Can I help you?"

"Ah, yes. I'm looking for engagement rings?"

The old lady's face lit up, and she went back behind her counter, motioning for Julian to follow her. Reaching under, she pulled out a ring display containing various gleaming jeweled rings. "These are my finest collection."

Julian leant on the counter, inspecting them closely. "They're certainly very lovely," he murmured, evaluating and appraising each one as his eyes slid over them. Finally, he came to the last ring on the tray, and he knew as soon as he saw it that it was the ring for Brooke. Looking up at the old lady, he pointed to it. "May I?"

"Of course."

Carefully, Julian slid the ring from its place and held it up, twisting it this way and that, examining every part of it. The light glanced off from its diamond stone, which wasn't too small to be disappointing, but not big enough to be an eyesore. The stone itself was wrapped in ornate tendrils that grew out from the silver ring. It wasn't tarnished, or worn, but it seemed to have an antique character to it that charmed Julian. _This feels right. _"I'll take it."

"Excellent," the old woman cried, bringing over an open velvet box which Julian promptly laid the ring in. "It's $1800."

Fishing around in his pockets, Julian retrieved his wallet and handed over his card.

"She's certainly a very lucky girl," the old lady commented, accepting the card.

"She deserves it." The transaction made, he returned his wallet to its place and slid the box into his inner coat pocket. "Thank you."

"You have a nice day now dear. And good luck!" she called after Julian as once more he stepped out into the Chicago air. It was still a good thirty minutes back to the hotel, but his stomach turned with excitement and he didn't want to be compressed into a car. He sent the old lady a wave before resuming his journey, noting how a darkness was slowly starting to settle in, and the evening chill was sinking into the air. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and adjusted his scarf as he walked, feeling the comfortable weight of the ring in his pocket pressing against his chest.

-/\-

The streets became emptier and emptier as they grew less and less familiar. The streetlights shone down on Julian like accusing interrogation lights, painting cruel shadows on the walls and the floor. His breath formed ethereal clouds in front of his face. Julian stopped beneath a signpost pointing to various streets and avenues, none of which he'd ever heard of. He may have been in Chicago for months, but truth be told he'd mostly travelled in a cabs or taken the subway. And now he was lost, wandering around in a questionable area of Chicago, all because he'd felt over-confident after purchasing the ring. He cursed himself internally before turning left, walking down a narrow street. He rounded the corner and let out a sigh of relief as his eyes alighted on a taxi parked up at the curb, stationary but with its lights on, sitting at the far end of the long street. The streetlights flickered infrequently, but Julian could now hear the distant roar of traffic more clearly and felt assured that he was heading in the right direction. Nevertheless, it wouldn't be too damaging to his pride to take a taxi back. Decision made, he strode forward, stepping carefully on the sidewalk, but several steps in and an unmistakable crunch sounded from beneath his sole. Looking down, he saw shattered glass, but before further thought could form a hand grabbed him by his collar and yanked him down an alleyway. A pain-filled grunt escaped his lips as he was thrust up against a wall, and he stared into the steely eyes of two thugs. Their faces were weathered and littered with scars, their strong jaws decorated with rough stubble.

"Please," Julian started, "just-"

"Shut up!" the shorter one sneered, pressing a knife to his throat. Julian swallowed, his words dying bitterly in his mouth. The taller thug's hands entered Julian's pockets and searched, coming out holding his wallet and cell.

"Please, that's all I have," Julian pleaded, the engagement ring burning his inside pocket as much as the knife's blade burnt against his skin. He resisted the urge to glance down. "Just take it."

"I'm not convinced," the brute spat, pulling the knife away from his prey's throat, but not before applying enough pressure to open up a shallow cut. He used the blade to push Julian's scarf to the side, and a malicious smile spread across his face as he spied the unmistakable bulge of a ring box. He shared a look with his fellow delinquent before reaching his calloused hand forward. And Julian made a rash, impulsive decision. _I am not losing this ring. _Taking advantage of the knife's withdrawal, Julian landed a heavy punch on the face of the shorter one, causing him to stumble backwards. An astonished silence settled over the thugs, but the adrenaline was burning through Julian's veins like fire and his jaw set, muscles tense.

The thug laughed, a strangled, ugly sound. "Oh, so you wanna fight, pretty boy?"

Julian's answer came in the form of him pushing himself off the wall and launching himself at one of them, aiming for another punch but he was pushed aside by a shove to his waist and a jagged slice across his cheek. Julian turned around in anticipation of another attack, ignoring the stinging and the unmistakable wetness of his cheek, and just starting hitting. He didn't know which part of the body his fists where colliding with, he just fought for his life, but his attack came to a halt when a blow to the face forced him back. Bloodied and beaten, Julian quickly assessed his situation. The thugs were advancing on either side of him, but _if I could just push past one, I'd be out the alley... _gathering his nerves, Julian made a run for it, shoving aside the thug that stood in the mouth of the alley, earning him a deep slash across his bicep. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he ran for all he was worth towards the still dormant taxi. He could hear shouts and footsteps chasing him as he yanked open the door of the taxi and threw himself inside, slamming it shut behind him. "Go! Drive!" he shrieked. When the bewildered taxi driver didn't respond straight away, Julian yelled at him even louder. "_Drive!"_

"You got it, sir." The driver put his foot down, cranking it into gear, and the taxi rolled forward and away just as the thugs' hands were about to close around the door handles. Julian pressed a hand to the cut on his arm, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. The wound didn't seem that deep, but then again, he wasn't a doctor, so he couldn't be sure.

The driver looked back at him worriedly. "You alright, son?"

"Just get me to a hospital," Julian ground out, staring out of the window as the buildings blurred in and out of smooth lines, signs merging with bricks and streetlights, more and more people flitting past, signaling his return to civilization. Placing his free hand across his chest, Julian felt the ring box beneath his shaking fingers, and his eyes widened with a desperate need to talk to Brooke. He reached into his pocket for his phone, but his fingers closed nothing but a card, which upon inspection was his room key. _Must've fallen out when they took my wallet._

"Ex-excuse me," Julian stuttered out, sweat coating his skin with a slick sheen, "d-do you have...a-a phone?"

The driver looked at Julian through the dash mirror, his eyebrows creased with worry, then over to his cell, which lay on the far side of the dashboard. "I do, but I can't reach it right now."

"Please," Julian pleaded, "I need to talk to Brooke...Brooke..."

Conflicted, the driver felt compelled when he saw the fear and pain in his stricken passenger's eyes, and the blood flowing from the gash on his cheek. "Alright son, just give me a sec." With one last look at the road, he stretched over, keeping one hand on the wheel. "Almost got it...just a little bit more...got it!" He slid back into his seat, tossing the phone into the backseat for Julian. Eyes returning to the road, he had no time process, let alone react, when the tanker slammed into their side, horns blaring, throwing the car in somersaults down the street, skidding into other cars as it went.

* * *

><p><strong><em>So...quick note, I have no idea how much engagement rings are supposed to cost. I also have no knowledge of Chicago, so I don't know if a shady area such as what Julian found himself in exists, which I'm guessing it does, but if not, take it as creative license.<em>**

**_Thank you for reading, and if you have the time, please make my day and review :)_**


	2. Missing You

**_Thank you for all of those who have shown interest in this story; it is much appreciated :)_**

* * *

><p><strong>2. Missing You<strong>

"_Missing you isn't the problem. It's wondering if you'll ever come back that's killing me." - Anonymous_

Julian's eyelids were reluctant to open, fluttering haphazardly. His head was quivering with jolts of stinging pain, and his chest felt tight, and in his ears, all he could hear was a persistent pounding, turning all other sounds into a metamorphosed cacophony. The world was hazy to him, a blur of bright lights, and his skin burned with a fiery heat that bathed his flesh and drenched his clothes. A deep, explosive pain throbbed in his knee; he would cry out if his throat didn't feel so scorched. He couldn't think; his mind was too thick and heavy, and the ringing was morphing into undecipherable shouts that just intensified the pain and it was _all_ _too_ _much_. Allowing his eyes to slide closed again, Julian succumbed to the numbing darkness as hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him from the inferno.

-/\-

Brooke paced anxiously, glancing at her watch repeatedly, the dial reading quarter past eleven. _He's fine, he's fine...just stuck in traffic...or his flight was delayed, or something... _Nevertheless, she picked up her phone, scrolled down the contact list and dialed. An uneasy feeling was settling in her stomach, twisting its way around her nerves and stringing them tight, so her fingers and voice shook with an undetermined emotion. She waited, impatiently listening to the dial tone, cursing as it went to answer phone.

"_Hey, this is Julian, leav-"_

She hung up, not feeling the need to leave a message, and, glancing around the room, she felt an icy chill creeping across her skin. Despite the rational side of her mind arguing against it, she just couldn't shake the feeling the something wasn't right. But she pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind, blaming it on the restless night's sleep she had suffered last night. A cheerful rapping on the door dragged her from her musings, and Brooke rushed over, her face lighting up as she opened the door, but her smile fell sharply when she saw Peyton standing there.

"Well, nice to see you too," Peyton remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Brooke shook her head. "I thought it was Julian..."

"I just stopped by to grab my phone," Peyton explained, "I left it here last night." She paused. "You gonna let me in or what?"

"Oh. Yes, sorry," Brooke murmured, stepping aside to let Peyton in.

"Are you okay Brooke?" Peyton asked, "You seem a little...preoccupied."

Brooke smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. "It's nothing. Julian's just running late, that's all."

Peyton placed a hand on Brooke's arm, giving a comforting squeeze. "He'll be here. He never was one for timekeeping."

At this, Brooke laughed, fondly remembering all the times with Julian they'd been late for their dinner reservations or for the movies. "I'm sure you're right." She gestured to the kitchen counter. "Your phone's over there."

"Thanks," Peyton chirped, collecting her phone. "I gotta bounce, me and Lucas are going out lunch. Give me a call later, yeah?"

Brooke nodded, closing the door behind Peyton. She leant against the wood, and pulled her phone back out, calling Julian one more time.

-/\-

Bright lights flashed above him, rolling along one after the other in a never ending line. Julian felt himself being jostled about, felt pain flaring all over, and felt pressure pushing down on him. His chest was tight, painfully curling in on itself; each breath was like a fresh slice through his skin, cutting him deeper and deeper each time, and it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. And then the pain is knee hit like a crashing wave, flooding down his nerves and drowning his senses, causing him to gasp, but the sharp intake of breath provoked another ache in his chest, and it was a vicious circle of_ painpainpain_. His dry lips moved, but he couldn't form words; he felt as though he were being assaulted from every direction and he wasn't strong enough to fight them off all at once.

"Blood pressure's falling."

Faces swam in and out of focus above him, shouting at each other, shouting at him, the words dancing teasingly in his head as they failed to make sense to him. _Why are they screaming so loud? _The ringing in his ears were getting louder, exhaustion dragging him under again.

"He's crashing!"

-/\-

"_Peyton, something isn't right. I just know it."_

"Brooke, just-"

"_No. It's six o'clock. I've waited long enough. If his flight was delayed, he would have called. If he was stuck in traffic somewhere, he would have called. If anything was going wrong he would've called!" _Brooke cried, her voice becoming more and more hysterical, reaching higher notes with each desperate statement.

Peyton sighed heavily. "Don't work yourself up Brooke. I'm coming over now, and we'll get this sorted, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, Peyton hung up, throwing her phone into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she stood up. She turned to Haley. "Sorry Hales, I gotta go over to Brooke's."

"Is everything okay?" Haley asked, concerned. She'd heard Brooke's distressed voice coming through the speaker.

"Julian was supposed to be back this morning, but so far there's been no word of him, and he's not answering his phone," Peyton explained. "I told her there'd be a rational explanation for it all, but you know Brooke."

"I'll come with you if you like," Haley offered, placing her mug down. "Nathan's out with Jamie and Lucas, so I'd be here alone anyway."

Peyton smiled. "Sure, if you want. Might take both of us to calm her down by the sounds of things on the phone."

The two headed towards Peyton's car, and ten minutes later, they'd pulled up outside Brooke's house and were walking inside after finding the door unlocked.

"Brooke?" Haley called out, "Are you here?"

Brooke appeared out of her bedroom, her eyes watery. "I called the hotel," she started, her voice thick with unshed tears, "and they said they haven't seen him since last night, but..." she trailed off, the words dying in her throat.

"But what Brooke?" Peyton prompted, her face falling in worry. "What is it?"

"They said they got a phone call a few hours ago, from the hospital...last night, there was a horrific pileup...a tanker drove into a taxi, which crashed into other cars, or something..." Brooke took deep breaths, but it wasn't working; the tears were falling now, and her words were choked.

Haley and Peyton stood on either side of her, dreading what Brooke was about to say.

"What did the hospital tell the hotel?"

"The passenger that had been pulled from the taxi...he didn't have any identification on him, or a phone, but he had a room key for their hotel. They think it might be Julian." Her voice broke when she said his name, and were it not for Peyton and Haley holding her up, she would have fallen to the floor in a broken heap of sobs.

Haley rubbed soothing circles on Brooke's back. "It might not be him. You don't know for sure."

Brooke shook her head defiantly. "No, I know it's him. It explains why he didn't call. He _couldn't._" She stood there for a few more moments, trying to still the sobs, when suddenly she spoke with conviction. "I have to go there. I'll drive up there now."

"No," Haley said defiantly, "you can't drive in this state. You'll end up in an accident yourself."

"Besides, it's like a 13 hour drive," Peyton added, watching Brooke carefully who was starting to tremble slightly. "Go pack some things. I'll book us on the next flight over there."

Brooke pulled Peyton into a hug, and whispered her thanks in her ear.

"Don't mention it," Peyton smiled, pushing Brooke in the direction of her bedroom. "I'll be back soon to pick you up."

Without another word, Brooke rushed into her bedroom and began throwing some things into a bag.

Peyton turned to Haley. "I'll drop you off on the way back to my place."

"Thanks. I'd come with you, but Jamie-"

Peyton raised a hand, cutting her off as they made their way out the door. "Don't worry about it Haley, it's fine."

"Call me when you get some news on Julian, okay?"

-/\-

Julian woke up alone. It was the first thing that registered in his mind, not the glaring fluorescent lights, casting a palor on his skin, not the throbbing in his head, or the stiff numbness of his knee, but the feeling of a soul-deep loneliness. He couldn't remember who he was supposed to wake up to, couldn't remember whose face he should be seeing next to him. Then the pain set in. Numbed with drugs, it was temporarily reduced to a shadow of its former self, biding its time before it will strike again. Each breath was deep, the expansion of his chest causing his chest to thrum in protest. He doesn't remember why he is here, or where he even is. The feeling is unsettling, and he closes his eyes, feeling as though he has been asleep for years, but not rested for any of it.

On the table beside him sat a small velvet box, waiting patiently, its fabric drenched with blood.


	3. Couldn't Stay Away

**_Apologies on the delay; I was writing this chapter in between revision. I also haven't gotten round to replying to your reviews, but I thank you for them, and hope too shortly._**

* * *

><p><strong>Couldn't Stay Away<strong>

"_I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited, but I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it." - Someone Like You, Adele._

Julian was trapped in a hazy fog of mumbled, disjointed thoughts and feelings. He could hear voices and sense movements; any touches to his skin set a blaze afire and he would've cried out in protest if he could, but his throat was thick and his lips unresponsive. He couldn't think clearly enough to form coherent sentences; stringing words together was an impossible feat when the letters slipped away before they could even become viable. Heavy eyelids were welded shut, defiant and rebellious in their adolescent desires for slumber. Flashes of memory blurred into one - a glistening knife melted into charred metal, the smell of smoke and ash twisted into burning flesh. Everything was indistinguishable, yet significant at once, but nothing made sense. He was in a state of non-existence, he thought, not quite here and not quite there, floating fleetingly between two different realms, promises and dreams luring him either way, twisting and turning and churning his insides. He didn't know which way to go, could not discern which way was up, but he wanted to get out. He wanted to go home.

-/\-

Brooke pushed open the hospital doors, striding down the corridor.

"Don't you think we should go to the hotel first?" Peyton asked, struggling to keep up.

"Hospital was closer," Brooke stated simply, "and I've already tried ringing his cell again. It's dead. Doesn't even go to voicemail." She was practically running up to the receptionist's desk at the hospital, Peyton close on her heels, overnight bags slung over their shoulders.

The receptionist looked up at her, taking in her distressed appearance. She smiled kindly. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. I'm looking for someone. I think he was involved in the...car crash, yesterday."

"What's his name?"

"Julian Baker."

"One moment." She turned to the computer, fingers dancing over the keys. "There's no Julian Baker in the system. However we do have a young man here, but we don't have a name. It is believed that he's staying at the Hilton, as he was carrying a room key in his pocket-"

Overcome, Brooke only managed a weak nod.

"I'll find someone to take you to him." The receptionist called a nurse over, who in turn gestured for the two women to follow her, leading them into an elevator, up a floor and down various corridors before coming to a halt outside room 303. "Is this who you're looking for?"

Brooke stared in through the window, eyes locked on Julian's still form on the bed, oxygen mask strapped over his face, the curtains of his eyes drawn. "Yes, that's him," she whispered. "Can I go in?"

"Of course," the nurse said, "but we need you to fill in some forms, and we need his name so we can access his medical notes." She paused. 'Go in and see him. I'll bring the papers to you in a minute."

"Thank you," Peyton said, following Brooke into the room. She gently took Brooke's bag and placed it on the floor in the corner along with her own, pulling out her phone to quietly call Haley.

Brooke walked over to Julian's bedside, and closed her hand around his. "Julian? Can you hear me?"

At the mention of his name, the fog was penetrated, and the sound of Brooke's voice drove open a gap in the darkness, a thin sliver of light slowly reaching towards him, prying open his lids and lifting the weight from them. Julian was dragged out of sleep, lids fluttering, eyes hazy and confused until they focused on Brooke's face looking down at him.

"Oh Julian," she cried, allowing the tears to flow freely, "I was so scared...I thought...I thought that you were..."

Julian tried to move his arm, but found the limb cumbersome as his nerves tingled from misuse. Clumsily, he lifted his free hand and wearily lifted the mask from his face. "Brooke." His voice was rough from exhaustion. "You...you..."

"Don't," Brooke said, placing a finger gently on his lips before pushing the mask back in place. "You need to save your strength, and rest." Julian said nothing, just stared up at her, a gnawing feeling inside that there had been something he'd needed to tell her, something he'd needed to ask. Brooke looked down at him, her smile cracking under his intense gaze. She'd heard Peyton quietly murmuring in the background before slipping out of the room to give them space, but Brooke wasn't paying attention; she was too busy taking in Julian's appearance. A small dressing lay across his throat, and around his left bicep a bandage was tightly woven. The flesh on his knuckles was ripped, and all across his arms shallow little cuts marred his skin as though it were cracked. Yet more dressings hid burns arounds his wrists and forearms. Beneath the blankets, Julian's knee was encased in a splint, immobilizing the joint. Harsh, purple bruises had blossomed across his jawline, and another dressing hid a gash on his forehead. Brooke noted all of this, but her eyes were held by the ugly cut on his cheek. The line was uneven and jagged; she couldn't tell how deep, but figured it must have been bad as the wound was held together with multiple stitches.

The nurse reentered the room, papers tucked under her arm, dragging Brooke's eyes away from the slash, a faint blush tainting her cheeks when she saw that Julian had caught her staring. "How bad is he?"

The nurse placed the papers down on the side, inadvertently pushing the unnoticed ring box, lodging it down the side. She pulled out his notes from the end of the hospital bed and flipped through the pages. "He has an incomplete fracture in two ribs, meaning that the bone isn't broken all the way through. He also suffered a Grade II concussion. We need to do further scans to determine whether or not he has sustained a skull fracture. His knee was dislocated, and it has since been relocated and placed in a splint to prevent further injury," she informed. "There are burns on his arms, but luckily they're only, superficial second degree. They're painful, but should heal within two to three weeks. There's various cuts and scrapes, which have all been stitched up where necessary. Also, we discovered what looks like a knife wound in his forearm. He really is very lucky; the damage could've been a lot worse."

Brooke looked from the nurse to Julian, frowning. "What?"

Julian's eyes widened in panic, searching desperately for the memories that were slipping through his fingers, just out of reach. "I don't...I don't remember."

The nurse smiled reassuringly. "That's not uncommon. Your memory of the events should return to you soon." She glanced towards the door. "The police are here. They'd like to talk to you, if you're feeling up to it."

Brooke shook her head, about to tell them that it wasn't a good idea but Julian cut her off, once more sliding the mask out of place. "It's fine...Let them come in...but I'm not sure how much help I can be."

As the nurse departed, Brooke leant down to press a gentle kiss to Julian's forehead. "I was so worried. I knew something was right when you didn't turn up. I kept calling and calling your cell but you never answered."

Julian frowned. "My cell?" Some distant memory alighted in his mind, foggy but prominent, willing him to decipher its mysteries. "Something happened...I don't have my phone." Before he could delve in further, the door opened and the nurse walked in with a tall, stocky police officer in tow.

"I'll leave you now. Can I just take your name?" The nurse asked, looking at the patient.

"Julian Baker."

She nodded her thanks and indicated once more at the forms before leaving the room.

The police officer stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Mr. Baker, I am Detective Jones. I'd like to ask you a few questions." He pulled out a notepad, pen poised ready to make notes. "Your nurse tells me that you sustained a knife wound. Can you tell me how that happened?"

Julian frowned once more, the same uneasy feeling from just a moment ago resurfacing in him. Frustration alighted in his eyes as he struggled to recall, fragmented pieces of memory jarring in his mind. Faces swam, taunting, jeering, and he felt pressure on his neck and pain spike through his arm, all too real.

"Julian? Julian, what's wrong?" Brooke asked, panicked, as Julian began to shake inexplicably, with his breaths coming steadily faster.

"I was attacked," he cried, the events returning in partial clarity. "I was walking back to the hotel," he continued, trying to slow his breaths because the rapid movements caused a deep ache in his chest, "and I got lost. I walked for ages..." to Brooke, his eyes were sightless, seeing something she could not. "Finally I spotted a taxi. I was walking over when...when..."

Brooke placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, but he jerked away from the touch, his senses trapped in the memory. She tried not to feel hurt as she withdrew her hand and watched silently instead.

"They grabbed me." And now he was looking nowhere, and everywhere at the same time, the walls flaking away into dark alleyways, the air cooling with a reminiscent nighttime chill. "They pulled me into an alleyway, forced me up against a wall." He frowned, stalling in his recounting. There was a crack in his memory, a dark shadow casting a disdainful stain over one fragment, forbidding him from shining the light. "They...they took something, I think. I don't know what happened; I can't remember how I got away, but I do remember running, running away from them, down the street, and basically throwing myself into the taxi and ordering it to drive." He paused, seemingly gathering himself and returning to the present. "The driver was taking me to the hospital...then...then the whole world just capsized. Literally." He looked to Brooke worriedly, who smiled encouragingly in response. "Next thing I know, I'm waking up here."

The detective nodded, hurriedly scribbling down notes. "Can you give me any details about the attackers, and how many there were? The street name?"

"There were two of them," Julian started slowly, sure of that fact, but he couldn't picture their faces, no matter how hard he tried. He cursed himself privately for this weakness. "I just can't remember any details. I can't-"

"Julian, it's okay," Brooke cut in, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it gently. "The nurse said you may have memory loss. Just give it time; it'll come back to you."

"But what if it doesn't?" Julian cried, undertones of panic creeping into his voice, giving it a harsh edge, a shrill, brittle quality that laboured his words. "What if I never remember? There's something missing, Brooke, something important. Something I should know. But I don't." Unbeknownst to Julian, tears slipped down his cheeks, as a swell of emotion rose that battled against the physical pain, causing an ache that no amount of painkillers would cure. "I'm sorry Brooke."

"Oh Julian," Brooke murmured, heart clenching. "You've got nothing to apologize for. None of this was your fault."

The detective put away his notepad. "That's all for now Mr. Baker," he said, noting the distress etched clearly on Julian's face, carving invisible grooves across the mind, "I'll come back another time to get a full statement. I'll need your contact details, though."

Julian nodded muted, detachedly listing off his address and number, before the detective bade farewell and left. After a heartbeat of silence, Julian turned to Brooke, asking her if he could possibly find something for him to eat.

"Of course." She smiled and left the room, heading firstly to find Peyton.

Julian's façade fell as he watched her leave. He wasn't hungry, not in the slightest. But he didn't want her to see the tears that slipped, unbidden, down his cheeks.

-/\-

"How is he?" Peyton asked, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands.

Brooke sat down beside her, letting out a defeated sigh. "I don't know. There doesn't seem to be too much damage, not physically anyway." She paused, replaying the scene in the hospital room from just moments ago. "He was attacked. Mugged, I think."

Peyton's eyes widened. "What?"

"The police officer wanted to talk to him, asking him how'd he'd come to suffer a knife wound in his arm," Brooke recounted, "Julian couldn't remember much, just bits and pieces. He said he'd been pulled into an alleyway, and they took something from him. He couldn't remember what, but seeing as he's missing his wallet and cell, I'm guessing those. He said he managed to get away and into the taxi. He was on the way to the hospital when the crash happened."

Peyton shook her head sadly. "Oh Brooke, that's awful. First he was attacked, then in a car crash..." She wrapped an arm around Brooke's shoulder when she saw her eyes watering up, threatening tears, and pulled her close to her. "He's okay now, Brooke, that's what matters. Concentrate on that. He'll be healed up and back to normal in no time."

Brooke didn't say anything in response, for fear that if she were to open her mouth, only sobs would come out. She had to stay strong for Julian.

"Haley sends her love," Peyton started, trying to distract Brooke slightly, "I said I didn't know how long we'd be here. She said she'd come up, if you wanted her to?"

Brooke shook her head. "No," she started, her voice weak, "tell her not to. Like you said, he'll be healed in no time."

Peyton picked up on the fact that Brooke didn't fully believe what she'd said, but then again, she didn't either. Julian had been through a lot, and although the physical damage wasn't too devastating, she wondered just what the mental damage would be. "What are you doing out here anyway?" she queried.

"Julian was hungry. I thought I'd get him something from the canteen, rather than go in search of hospital food."

Peyton smiled. "I'll come with you." The pair got up and headed down the corridor, unaware that back in room 303, Julian was curling in on himself, shaking with tears, his weak frame wracking with choked, strangled sobs.


	4. Greatest Fear

**Greatest Weakness**

"_The greatest weakness of all is the great fear of appearing weak." - Jacques Benigne Boussuel _

Having left Peyton on the phone to Lucas, Brooke had returned to Julian's room with a tray full of food, bringing a wide range of items, not knowing what he'd feel like eating. She pushed the door open with her hip, pausing when she saw that he had drifted off to sleep, curled on his side, face buried into the pillow. She closed the door behind her quietly, careful not to disturb him, and slowly walked over to his bedside, putting the tray down on the cabinet. And that's where she caught sight of it, a flash of red in the corner of her eye. Curious, she reached forward, delicate fingers curling around the objects, and pulled it gently, applying more force upon the discovery that it was wedged in. Finally it was free, and she raised it to eye level to inspect it, heart constricting when she realized what it was. The velvet covering of the box was charred and ripped, and whatever fabric was left untouched was stiff with dried blood, but there was no mistaking it. She didn't have to open it to know what lay inside, and she worried her lip as she looked between the ring box and Julian. There was so many questions she wanted to ask him, so much she wanted to say, but Brooke knew she'd have to wait, and put his needs before her own curiosities. When Julian's eyelashes began to flutter, brows furrowing slightly, lips parting in a conscious breath, she made a decision, slipping the ring into her coat pocket, deciding to talk to him about it later, when he was through the worst of it. When he looking a little less broken, and when there was more light in those once dancing eyes.

-/\-

Three days later, Julian was seated uncomfortably in the back of Lucas' car. The eldest Scott brother had driven up to Chicago after Peyton had called him, and the group of four were now cramped into his car on the long drive back from Chicago. The doctors had advised Julian not to travel by plane, so they'd been forced to take the long route back. In fact, the staff at the hospital hadn't been particularly pleased when Julian had discharged himself from their care. Brooke didn't know that, and he wasn't planning on telling her anytime soon, because he knew what she'd say. That _he was stupid_, and it was _a reckless thing to do_, when he wasn't fully recovered yet, even in the short term, but he just couldn't stand staying there any longer. He'd felt trapped, the small room dragging out claustrophobic tendencies within his fears. But if he were honest to himself, that wasn't the reason he'd been so desperate to leave. At least, not the whole reason. The truth of it was that he'd had too much time to himself, too much time to think, too much time alone with his disparate thoughts, and as long as he was stuck in that uncomfortable excuse for a bed, he'd had nothing to do to distract himself and keep the thoughts at bay. So now Julian sat with medication in his pocket, and his head pressed against the icy glass of the window, hoping the chill would disperse the feverish edge to his skin. His injured leg was propped up between the driver and passenger seat; the limb felt cumbersome with the splint restricting his movements. Time passed uneventfully, the silence falling like a weight and laying on the shoulders of Brooke, Peyton and Lucas, the uncomfortableness staying unnoticed by Julian. The others attempted to engage him in conversation, but received vague, non-committal answers; they soon tired of their failed tries, and found solace in the radio instead.

They took breaks every few hours, with Brooke, Peyton and Lucas all taking turns in driving, opting for that method, rather than having to stop over somewhere for the night. Julian wanted to get back to Tree Hill as soon as possible. He thought that as soon as he was home, then his life would go back to normal, and he could just get on with things again. He just needed something to _do_.

-/\-

After what seemed like an eternity, lengthened due to the continuous relapses of silence, Lucas pulled up outside Brooke's house, all the passengers breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Lucas carried Julian's bags for him while Peyton took Brooke's. Brooke had gotten out and retrieved Julian's crutches, passing them to him, and was trying to assist him getting out. She caught the flicker of irritation flash across Julian's features at her efforts, knowing he was biting his tongue to prevent himself from snapping at her.

"I'm fine Brooke," he said calmly, voice level, teeth ground together. "I can do it."

Reluctantly, Brooke stepped back, protests dying in her throat, watching Julian struggle to pull himself up and out. Once upright, he leant heavily against the car door, the simple act seemingly depriving him of strength. He took deep, painful breaths, face twisting at the sharp stabbing pains in his chest, and allowed Brooke to place a gentle hand on his arm, guiding him towards the house. Still maintaining her hold on Julian, Brooke slid her keys to into the lock and pushed the door open, allowing Julian to get inside before Lucas and Peyton carried the bags in.

"Thanks Luke," Brooke said sincerely, wrapping him in a hug which was swiftly returned.

"Anytime Brooke," he replied, pulling away and glancing at Julian. "You take it easy."

Julian nodded absently; Peyton hugged Brooke quickly, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "You call us if you need anything."

"Will do."

"Thanks," Julian called after them, without really looking, to which Lucas and Peyton returned with a wave before getting in the car and driving away.

Brooke picked up the bags, carrying them through into the bedroom. When she came back out, she found Julian standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, resting on his crutches, staring around his surroundings.

"It's been so long since I've been here," Julian murmured.

Brooke walked up to him, gently wrapping her fingers around his hand, and reached up to press a kiss onto his jaw. "I know. Too long." She sighed, resting her head softly on his shoulder, carefully not to press herself too strongly on his chest, or lean against him too hard. Julian's knee ached, but he said nothing, content to just be so close to her again. They stood there like that for a while, silently drawing strength from each other in the comfort of the embrace.

-/\-

The next day, after a sleepless night, Julian found himself sitting uncomfortably on the sofa, crutches discarded to the side, with a plate of untouched toast and a mug of coffee, long since cold. He still didn't feel like eating, didn't feel like doing much of anything. The painkillers had numbed his senses, leaving him feeling dull and sluggish. He felt exhausted, and knew he looked it, too, but couldn't bring himself to care. He hadn't looked into a mirror since the accident, and couldn't bring himself to, for fear of the damage he'd see.

Brooke walked back into the room, sliding the phone back into its slot. "Your appointment at the clinic is at eleven. The nurse said they need to check your injuries, see how they're healing." When she elicited no response, she walked over to him worriedly, taking in the uneaten breakfast. "Julian? Are you okay?"

Julian's eyes slid over to hers. "Sorry, Brooke. I'm just not hungry."

Brooke glanced down at his breakfast, still in the exact same place where'd she placed it down. "Are you sure? You really need to try and eat something Julian, even if it's only a little-"

"But I'm not hungry," Julian snapped, causing hurt to flash across Brooke's eyes.

"Fine," she huffed, trying to bite back her exasperation, "but you need to get dressed. We're leaving in fifteen minutes." She paused, her expression softening as she regarded Julian. He looked haggard and tired, his grey tee hanging loosely from his shoulders. The dressings from his forehead and throat had been removed, leaving behind cuts that stood out in stark contrast against the paleness of his skin. His arm was still bandaged, and the bruises still startlingly prominent, but they had reached their peak and would soon fade into gentler shades of browns before disappearing altogether. The wound on his cheek looked less enflamed, but still drew attention, now matter how hard Brooke tried to avert her gaze. "How's your chest? Is it hurting?"

Julian shook his head. "Much better." It was partly true, but he was still on strong painkillers, and even they couldn't rid him of the uncomfortable tightness that refused to be abated. He managed a faint smile at Brooke. "I'll go get changed."

She watched him leave, uncertainty growing in her once more, knowing that he had a long way to go before he was healed.

-/\-

"Everything seems to be healing fine, but we'd like to see you next week for another check up. We need to keep an eye on that knee. Once the swelling has gone down, you'll be referred to an orthopedist to make sure you don't need any surgery on it." The nurse looked up from her chart. "It says here that you discharged yourself from the hospital. Have you had any problems since? And have you been taking your meds at the correct times?"

"What?" Brooke asked, her voice raising slightly. She turned to Julian, her face displaying a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You _discharged _yourself?"

Julian managed a half shrug. "Brooke, it's fine. There was no point in me being there; all I was doing was laying there all day taking meds. Someone else needed the bed more than me."

"But if you discharged yourself, then the doctors obviously didn't think you were ready to leave just yet!"

"Look at me Brooke. I'm fine. No complications, no problems or issues of any kind," Julian explained, "she just said everything was healing well." He turned to address the nurse, who had been unaffected by the exchange between the couple. "Yes, I've been taking the meds as and when instructed."

Silenced, Brooke huffed in indignation, resigned for the moment, but steadfastly determined to continue the discussion when the two were alone. She wasn't going to let it go, and found anger brimming under the surface of her skin as she thought of Julian's recklessness.

The nurse nodded. "Well, you're good to go," she said, handing Julian his shirt so he could put it back on. "You'll have to come back next week so we can take another look, and if all's well then, you'll just have another check-up later on. As long as you rest and take it easy, and continue taking your medication, then there shouldn't be a problem. If you stop by the reception on your way out you can make an appointment with an orthopedist."

"Thank you." Shirt in place, Julian got a hold of his crutches and slowly stepped down off of the examination bed, and exited the room with Brooke walking in front of him, holding doors open. She remained silent as Julian signed himself out and booked an appointment, and in fact it wasn't until they were halfway home that she broke the silence, unable to contain herself any longer.

"Why did you do it, Julian?"

"Do what?" He turned to look at her, brow furrowing, but only slightly in his feigned confusion.

Brooke breathed deeply through her nose, trying to keep a reign on her emotions, which were currently raging within her, a battle of anger and concern. "Don't play dumb, Julian; you know I hate that."

Julian sighed, sinking a little in his seat, his gaze redirected to the scenery passing by. "I already told you. I wasn't doing anything by being there."

"You were _healing._" The last word came out through slightly gritted teeth. "Healing under the care and surveillance of medical professionals. What if something had gone wrong? What if there'd been a complication, or worse, what if-"

"No Brooke. There were no complications, no what ifs."

"But you didn't know that!" Her knuckles tightened around the wheel, white flaring up beneath her skin before she forced herself to unclench them, and continued in a quieter voice, one that shook with a low undertone of a tearful tremor. "You could have made your injuries worse. What if there'd been an unforeseen injury, and something had happened at home and I couldn't have done anything to help. What if you'd been alone?"

At the change in her voice, Julian turned to look at Brooke, reaching out to take one of her hands from the wheel and twine their fingers together. "I know why you're mad at me Brooke, but I just couldn't be stuck there any longer. I wanted to be back home, with you." _That's all I've wanted._

Brooke's anger dissipated under his touch as he rubbed calming circles into the tip of her hand, and her mind flashed back to the ring box, still hidden in her coat pocket. "I know. I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for." This time it was Julian's voice that grew quiet as guilt shadowed his eyes, dulling their colour.

_Julian slipped out of room 303, taking a glance down the hallway for any signs of Brooke or Peyton. Seeing none, he headed down the corridor on stiff legs and shaky crutches, wiping the blood away from the back of his hand from where he'd pulled the IV tube out. His chest still felt tight, and would twinge in protest if he moved too strenuously, but he walked slowly and gingerly, careful not to over-exert himself, but determined to complete his mission. Suddenly realizing that he had no idea where he was going, he made his way to nurse's station, behind which sat a young nurse he hadn't seen before._

"_Excuse me, miss" Julian said, causing the blonde to glance up from the computer with a warm smile, "I was wondering if you could help me?"_

_The nurse glanced at Julian's hospital gown. "Should you be out of your bed?"_

"_The doc said I could take a little walk, you know, stretch my legs," Julian lied smoothly, hiding his grimace of pain with a tight smile._

_Accepting his words, the nurse asked, "So, what do you need help with?"_

"_I'm looking for someone," Julian started, leaning heavily against the counter. "He was brought in a couple of days ago. He was the taxi driver in that car accident."_

_The nurse nodded with acknowledgement. "Mr. Harris." She paused. "I'm afraid he's not in this ward, sir; he's in ICU."_

_Julian blanched. ICU. "Well, thank you anyway." He turned away quickly, pretending to head back to his room, and passed right by the door instead and carried on until he found an elevator. Glancing up at the signs, he located the ICU on Floor 4 and stepped inside the elevator, pressing the button, taking the opportunity of the quiet moment to let his true pain and exhaustion show._

_ A few minutes later, Julian found himself in ICU, but the doctors wouldn't let him through._

"_Please," Julian begged, "I just need to see him."_

_The doctor remained firm, blocking the entrance. "I'm sorry, but his family are with him now. You can't go in."_

_Julian murmured his compliance. "Fine, I won't go in. But can I just stay here, wait till his family come out? I need to speak to them."_

_The doctor folded his arms. "Are you related to Mr. Harris?"_

_Julian shook his head. "No. But I was the passenger in his taxi."_

"_Then you shouldn't be out of bed."_

"_Please." Julian knew how broken and desperate he sounded, but he was determined. "I just...I need to talk to them, to explain..."_

_The doctor's features softened slightly with understanding. He paused to consider. "Listen. His family are very distressed. Mr. Harris is in a critical condition. I can understand why you need to speak with them, but I doubt they are ready themselves yet."_

_Head hung, Julian nodded slightly. "Okay."_

_The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder, but whatever he was about to say was lost when a great commotion arose at the far end of the corridor, bragging the doctor's attention. "There's an emergency; I have to go. Can you find your way out?"_

"_Yeah." Julian watched as the doctor rushed away, before making his way over to Mr. Harris's room. He didn't go in, but instead stopped by the window, looking in, standing awkwardly on his crutches. He couldn't remember what the man looked like - he hadn't really been fully aware in the cab - and he certainly couldn't identify him now, beneath all the bandage and tubing. He was hooked up to so many monitors, Julian couldn't even follow the leads and tubes. But the man lying still in the bed didn't hold his attention for long. A woman sat close beside her bed, her long dark hair thrown into a messy bun, with several strands breaking free and framing her face. Her face was slightly weathered, with just the slightest of wrinkles marring her skin, lines that he supposed could have been laughter, but were now only heartache. Her hand was holding her husband's, while her other was wrapped around a little girl who was curled on her lap, her tiny hands clutching her mother's blouse as she buried her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. Julian backed away from the glass, guilt consuming him, and, with his eyes burning with tears, he fled as fast as he could from ICU, chased by his shadows, falling in a mess of legs and crutches and pain._

As soon as the car skidded to a halt, Julian threw the door open, grabbing his crutches from the back seat and rising from his seat and stumbled out, the memory provoking a whirlwind of emotions. His hands shook with a raging anger directed at himself, for the role he'd played in the accident.

"Julian?" Brooke was out of the car, worry plaguing her due to his sudden change. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Julian snapped, turning away from her and balling his hands into fists to try and hide the tremors.

Unconvinced, Brooke folded her arms. "Julian, I'm not stupid. I know when something's-"

"Look, can we just get inside the house please?" Julian interrupted, irritation lacing his words. "I just want to go to bed. I'm tired." It wasn't strictly a lie. He felt exhausted in every possible way, but he didn't want Brooke to see him this way. So weak. So broken. _I have to be strong for her. _"Please," he repeated, when Brooke just stood there watching him. He couldn't meet her eyes, couldn't bring himself to see the disappointment he steadfastly believed would be there. He felt as though she knew the reason for his shame, knew all about his cowardice, how he'd fled from the room, unable to face the family he had torn apart.

"Okay," Brooke said. She let it drop for now, but was determined to pick it up later. She walked past him silently, opening the door. As soon as he was inside, Julian headed straight for the bathroom, muttering some half-hearted excuse under his breath, and locked the door behind him. His fingers fumbled with the faucets like a drunkard as he twisted them, crutches landing in a clattering heap, leaning down to splash cold water on his face, heated with shame. He stood, white-knuckling the cool sink edge, knee crying out in protest, waiting for his tremors to subside, back hunched forward. A knock on the door jolted him from his efforts.

"Julian? Are you alright in there?"

"I'm fine," Julian replied, clearing his throat when his voice sounded more choked than he'd hoped. "I'm just gonna have a quick shower."

"Do you need help? You know you can't get your splint wet. Just let me in, please," Brooke pleaded through the door. "I'll run you a hot bath-"

"Brooke." Just one word conveyed so much, and Brooke stepped away from the door, fighting back tears.

"Okay...I'll be right out here if you need me, Julian."

He heard her light footsteps walking away, ashamed at himself for pushing her away. "I'll need you more than you'll ever know," he whispered, daring to look up into the mirror, losing himself in the face that stared back.


	5. Hello, Self

_**Apologies for the delay on this one, but now all of my exams are over and prom is out of the way, I should be able to update more frequently and regularly!**_

* * *

><p><strong>Hello, Self<strong>

"_Adversity introduces a man to himself." -Anonymous._

Nearly two weeks had passed since the accident, and physically, Julian was feeling a lot better. The painkillers had taken away the biting edge of the pain from his chest, and the majority of the little cuts and scrapes had faded with his bruises. A red line marred his neck still, but would blend back into his skin over time. He'd gotten used to the crutches; they had become less of a hindrance, but could still be quite cumbersome at times, causing bursts of frustration and vexation. The cut on his face and his arm still had just a few stitches left, directing it on its healing path, but would definitely scar. The skin of his cheek was uneven and discoloured around the stitching, and Julian hated how _ugly _it was, and how ugly it made him feel. He _loathed _the idea of the scar that would be inevitably left behind, a jagged line of white that would identify with him wherever he went. And an unforgettable reminder of what had happened. He'd never be able to put everything behind him, never be able to run and hide, not as long as the scar lay mockingly across his cheek. Sometimes he thought he could feel it burning, whenever someone came over to wish him well, a string of faces saying he looked well, only to bite back their words after realizing their poor choice. He could see how much effort it took for them to look him in the eye, when he knew that their eyes were itching with the need to be drawn down to his cheek. Whenever they thought he wasn't looking, their gaze would flicker back to the wound, but he always saw them do it. He could have lived with it, if it had been anywhere else, somewhere he could have been able to _hide it__**, **_hide it away from the world behind layers of clothing. But he couldn't, and it made him feel a deep-seated anger within himself. Angry that he'd never just be Julian. He'd never be a face without the scar; the mark would always be attached to his name. He could see it his mind now, _"Hey, you know Julian? You know, the guy with the scar?"_

But then, whenever he indulged in this rage, he always ended up redirecting it at himself. What he hated more than the wound was who he'd become. How _superficial _his thoughts were - all he could fixate on was his appearance, when he knew that he should just be _damn grateful to be alive_, and in one piece, which was more than could be said for some of the others.

-/\-

Sighing, Julian rolled over slowly to look at the alarm clock on his bed stand. _04:34_. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He hadn't slept for days, at least, not properly. He didn't count the times when he dozed off for a few minutes, only to wake up shortly after with a jolt of fear. He was afraid to sleep, afraid to _try_. Whenever he closed his eyes, images danced behind his lids. Snatches of memories that transported him back to that night, over and over, and he felt that if he were to fall asleep, it would only get worse, and his dreams would turn into relentless nightmares, offering him no respite. He turned his head to look at the sleeping form of Brooke, oblivious to his sleeplessness. He felt guilty for how he'd been treating her. He knew he'd been distant and detached, eating very little, talking even less, and not doing much of anything really. He knew he'd been snappy with her, his words sometimes causing her to visibly flinch, as though stung or bitten. He knew it wasn't fair on her. But he couldn't help it, couldn't seem to drag himself out of this abyss. Sometimes he felt so lost, so hollow it made him choke; he couldn't breathe in the darkness, couldn't find his way out. Brooke kept trying, but her light wasn't bright enough to chase away the shadows, to quell the demons that were always taunting and hissing and spitting at him from his peripheral vision, only to dissolve into the night when he turned to confront them.

Silently, Julian reached for his crutches and slipped out of the bed, careful not to disturb Brooke. He closed the door of the bedroom softly, before walking into the early dawn of the morning, crutches clicking against the hardwood floor like heels. He picked up his laptop, sweeping away with his hands the layer of dust that had accumulated after weeks, and awkwardly carried it under his arm over to the couch, placing it down on the coffee table and sitting down in front of it, switching the machine on. He brushed his fingers against each other to dispel the dust as the machine booted up, its fan whirring softly, the only sound disturbing the morning stillness. He loaded up the internet browser and began his search, hoping to find information on the scale of damage caused in the accident.

-/\-

Two and a half hours later, Brooke wandered out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Julian?" she called, her eyes squinting slightly as they adjusted to the light. She heard no reply, but soon saw him sitting on the couch, eyes fixed on the computer screen. She didn't know that his muscles ached from lack of use, having sat there numbly for hours.

"How long have you been up?" she asked, sitting beside him on the couch.

"A while."

She placed a hand of his arm, surprised to find his skin icy cold, surprised to feel slight tremors tickle her fingertips. "Julian," she said, then repeated with more force, "Julian, hey, look at me." When he did not, she gently cupped the side of his face and turned it in her direction, his eyes following a moment behind after he teared them away from the screen. "What is it, Julian?"

"He's dead."

Brook frowned, a deep pit of concern growing. "Who is, Julian?"

"The taxi driver. He was thirty-six years old," he explained, "he had a wife, and a five year old daughter who's going to grow up without a father." _Because of me. _He looked away in shame, still afraid to tell her how it was all his fault, how _everything _was his fault. He didn't want to see the accusations in her eyes, the disappointment and the regret. He didn't want her to hate him. "Another man died. Five more were injured, one of which is par-"

"No," Brooke interrupted firmly. "No, Julian. Don't torment yourself." She reached forward and shut the laptop lid, hiding the report from view. It made her sick to think that he was just a statistic on the page.

"Hey!" he protested, jumping up from the couch, face twisting in a flash of pain radiating from his knee at the sudden movement. "I was reading that."

"I bet you were," Brooke commented, standing up too, steadying Julian with a hand on his arm when she observed his discomfort. "And I bet you've already read it a thousand times over since you looked it up."

Julian's eyes were downcast, studying the grain of the coffee table instead of Brooke's face. "I just wanted to know."

Brooke rested her hands above Julian's, squeezing them in an act of comfort, and gently pulled him back down onto the couch so they were seated again. "All you need to know is that _you're _alive, that _you're _okay. You can't do this to yourself Julian. No good will come of it." She pulled him to her, and he collapsed into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her, fingers digging into the fabric of her tee-shirt. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and shoulder, and, unable to fight the tears any longer, he cried into her. She rubbed soothing circles into his back with one hand, and with the other she held his head, carding her fingers through his hair. He tried to speak, but his words were broken and heavy in his throat; syllables washed away by his tears.

"I'm here for you Julian, and I always will be," she whispered, hoping desperately that this would be the turning point for him. Her mind flashed back to the ring box, which still lay in her coat pocket where she'd put it. She hadn't mentioned it to him yet; there never seemed to be a time when he wasn't too distracted or preoccupied. He'd been like a ghost, never quite here, never quite there, eyes looking into a past she could not see. Into a past she didn't know of, and one she suspected he wasn't entirely sure of himself. And all she wanted to do was bring him back into the present, into this life. Back into her life. Into _their _life.

-/\-

Brooke didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, holding Julian as he slowly cried himself to sleep. She gently disentangled herself from his limp grasp and lay him down on the couch, bringing a blanket and covering him with it. She knew he'd been having trouble sleeping, and wanted him to rest. Shrugging on a cardigan and picking up her phone, she slipped outside, dialing Peyton's number. After several rings, Peyton answered the phone with a sleepy greeting.

"Hey," Brooke responded, pulling her cardigan tight around her. "Did I wake you?"

"_Yeah, but it doesn't matter anyway; I needed to get up."_

Brooke heard a muted exchange between Peyton and Lucas. "No, I'm sorry, I should've checked the time. I didn't realize-"

"_Hey, Brooke, what's wrong?" _Peyton could sense something was off from Brooke's flustered withdrawal.

A sigh. "It's Julian."

"_Why, is he okay?"_

"I really don't know," Brooke murmured, gazing off into the distance. "Peyton, I'm worried about him. He's barely eating - he's lost so much weight, and he looks so thin and tired. And he's so..._withdrawn_. I didn't expect him to bounce back immediately, but it's been almost two weeks now, and it's like there's something missing in him."

"_I must admit, he didn't look right when I last came over. I didn't want to say anything..."_

"I don't know what to do," Brooke said honestly, her voice cracking with pent-up emotion. "I've been trying to put on a brave face for him, but I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. All I want to do is help him."

"_I don't doubt that, Brooke. What he's going through, it's obviously going to affect you too." _There was movement down the line. _"Look, give me ten minutes to get dressed and get over there. We'll sit and talk."_

"Thank you," Brooke said sincerely, wiping her tears away with the sleeve of her cardigan. "But don't ring the doorbell. Julian's asleep on the couch. I'll leave the door unlocked for you."

"_Got it." _The line went dead, and Brooke slipped the phone into her pocket, awaiting her friend's arrival.

-/\-

Peyton wrapped Brooke up in a tight hug. "So," she said, launching straight into the point, "has something happened to trigger this sudden concern?"

Brooke shrugged with one shoulder. "I've been worried for a while, but I woke up this morning to find him sitting on the couch, transfixed by his laptop. I don't know how long he'd been there, but I'm guessing it'd been a while." She paused, fighting against the state of fear that threatened to consume her. "He was shaking, and freezing, and then I looked what was on the screen..."

"What was it?" Peyton prompted, placing a hand on Brooke's arm.

"He'd pulled up a report on the accident. He was fixating on the fact that other people had been injured or killed."

Peyton pulled back, frowning. "You don't think it's some kind of...survivor's guilt, do you?"

"I don't know," Brooke said with a sigh, dropping down heavily into a chair, cradling her head in her hands. Her hair fell forward, framing her pale face. "I just feel so helpless, so _useless_, you know? I don't know if he should just recover from this in a few weeks. I don't know what he is even recovering _from_."

"We don't know what he went through," Peyton started, kneeling beside Brooke and resting a hand on her knee. "You've only heard what happened through his account to the police. Has he said anything further about it to you?"

"No." Brooke shook her head sadly.

"Even if he did," Peyton continued, "_we weren't there. _There is no possible way we could know how it had felt for him, or even if he remembers it all. From what you say his recollection is somewhat fragmented. And you have to remember, he didn't only suffer a car crash - he was mugged before hand."

"They say bad things come in threes," Brooke murmured, turning her head to look at Peyton through her strands of hair, "so what's coming next?"

As if by way of answer, a sharp cry drew their attention back inside the house. The two women sprung to their feet, dashing inside. Julian was sitting bolt upright on the couch, his shoulders tense and his body rigid. His hands clutched the fabric of the blanket, his fingers dipping into the creases as they scrabbled purposelessly, bones taut like claws. His eyes were wide, pupils blown in a deep-rooted fear brought rushing to the surface, dangling him off of the turbulent precipice, his empty stare passing straight through Brooke, filling her with an uneasy hollowness that brushed a chill across her skin.

"Julian," Brooke gushed, placing hands upon his tight shoulders in an act of comfort, but one that was perceived as a threat. Julian jerked out of her grasp, falling off the couch in a mess of blanket and limbs and terror, panic choking him of sense and oxygen, the sudden pain in his knee adding confusion to the mix of emotions. Both Peyton and Brooke rushed to help the stricken man, who rose in a frenzy.

"Julian!" Brooke repeated loudly, trying to break her way through his fear induced haze, "listen to me, baby, listen to my voice. It's me, Brooke."

"You're safe," Peyton added, "you're not in any danger."

"Come on, Julian, you need to calm down for me, okay? Deep breaths. You're going to make your knee worse if you're not careful. Just come back to me."

Julian stared into Brooke's face, as if trying to assess her credibility, and did the same for Peyton. His breaths were growing deeper and slower as fear released its grip, and as the talons ripped free of his mind, Julian collapsed against Brooke, broken sobs tearing through him. "I'm sorry, God I'm so sorry."

"You've got nothing to apologize for, Julian," Brooke placed a kiss on his forehead, felt the coolness of his skin on her lips, and looked up at Peyton, their gazes locked in worry, Julian's cries a background to their anxious concern.

-/\-

Julian hated Brooke seeing him like this. _So weak. So pathetic. _And that's all that seemed to be left of him, just this continuous cycle of hate and self-pity and anger and it left him reeling, unsure of where to turn, because he'd look one way, but when he looked back again it was different - darker, more treacherous. He so desperately wanted to cry out for help, but he didn't know what was wrong, couldn't put a name on these dark emotions that were so easily provoked. And he didn't want to drag Brooke down into this. _She deserves so much better than this, than me._

And now Peyton had seen him, and he knew he couldn't hide any longer. He thought that he could bury it down, lock it somewhere and throw away the key, but it was hard to throw away something he couldn't fully remember. It was just bits and pieces really, and he kept unearthing new fragments, but at the same time losing others.

Brooke and Peyton were talking, maybe to him, maybe to each other, but the words just slipped away, tumbling from his ears and clattering to the floor around him. He didn't trust himself to speak, for fear he would release the scream that had been building in his throat and heart for nearly two weeks, for fear of the blasphemous obscenities that would slur into demands, wanting to know why on earth this had to happen to him.

The smell of coffee dragged him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see a steaming mug hovering in front of him, an offering of sorts, with Peyton's hands wrapped around it. And that's when he saw it. A flash of light refracting from her finger, the brightness dancing on a diamond ring. It provoked a remembrance within Julian, and he saw in his mind the jeweler's, the kind old lady, and what he had thought to be the perfect ring. A sense of grief washed through him, and he cried. He cried for what he had lost - for the loss of his ring, _Brooke's ring, _and for the loss of the promises of hope and happiness it would have brought with it.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Hope you enjoyed this chapter :) please review!<em>**


	6. Pain and Sorrow

**Pain and Sorrow**

"_I'll take one shot for my pain, one drag for my sorrow; get messed up today, I'll be okay tomorrow." Liquor Store Blues - Bruno Mars._

"I hear what you're saying, but are you sure you want to send him to see a therapist?" Haley questioned, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "I mean, it's only been a couple of weeks since it happened."

"Believe me, Haley," Peyton countered, "if you'd seen how he broke down the other day, you'd agree."

Brooke shook her head. "I don't know. I don't want to push him into it, and I _know _he wouldn't go willingly. If he's not going to open up to me, why would he speak to some random stranger?"

"Sometimes it's easier that way," Peyton said softly, "to talk about personal, private things to someone you don't know. Someone who won't judge you."

"I wouldn't judge him!" Brooke exclaimed, voice rising slightly.

"Hey, hey, calm down; I know you wouldn't," Peyton supplied, palms raised as though in surrender. "I'm just saying, it's sometimes easier to talk to someone in ignorance, who doesn't know anything about you. Who'll only take you for what you say."

The three women were sat in Brooke's lounge, each cradling a glass of wine, coffee table littered with lighted candles casting soft shadows . It was early evening, two days after Julian's breakdown. Ever since it had happened, he'd been more withdrawn than ever, choosing to keep his distance from Brooke under the pretense of sleep, but they both knew he wasn't sleeping. They both knew he was merely hiding away in the bedroom, but neither vocally acknowledged it, instead allowing it to hang unsaid, the sentiment lying in the way their gazes shifted, not meeting the other in the eye.

Brooke leant back into her couch, worry now a permanent feature in the creases of her brow. "I don't know. I keep thinking that one day he'll wake up and just snap out of it, and be back to the old Julian."

Peyton laid a hand on Brooke's wrist, giving a gentle but comforting squeeze. "Honey, I don't think that's going to happen. Not without a push in the right direction."

"I know," Brooke admitted, raising her glass to take a sip of the wine; the drink was tasteless to her tongue, the flavour dissolving beneath the taste of worry that lay heavily within her, labouring every thought and word. "What if I go talk to a therapist on my own? Tell them about Julian, and just see what they say? That way, it wouldn't cause any unnecessary grief for him."

"I don't know," Haley mused, "without seeing him, and speaking to him, can they really make an accurate diagnosis?"

Brooke buried her fingers between strands of her hair, running them through in frustration. "Well do you have any better ideas?"

"Haley's got a point, Brooke," Peyton offered.

Brooke sighed, "I know." Her voice grew quiet. "I just don't want to push him away."

-/\-

Julian froze, hand gripped around the door handle. He was going to come out, but he could hear them. Hear them talking. _About him. _Discussing him like he was a _problem _to be dealt with. Sighing, he relinquished his hold of the cool metal, his fingers quietly unwinding, stiff from the iron grip they'd recently been possessing. He turned away from the door and retraced his steps gingerly, walking slow so that his crutches' steps were silent, and sat on the edge of the bed, resting his head in his hands. _I am a problem. _He felt like he was an obstacle in the way of Brooke's happiness, holding her back from all she could have, all she could be. His eyelids slid closed as he gently rocked back and forth, the movement adding a rhythm to his thoughts - he swayed from darkness to light, his sentiments swinging between hope and despair, when he suddenly froze in a jerk of frustration.

"Why can't I just feel happy?" he asked in a strained whisper, hands spread wide and eyes raised skyward, as though seeking divine intervention. "Why am I feeling like this? I'm _alive_. _I survived_. So why am I so damn _miserable_?" He slid to the floor, tears dropping down his cheeks unbidden. He didn't fight them anymore. Most of the time, he didn't even realize he was crying, wasn't aware that there was a visible sign of his pain. "I'm sorry, okay?" He continued, voice still low, "I didn't mean to cause the accident. I'm sorry, God I'm so sorry..." His voice was swallowed by sobs, but he repeated it in his mind, mantra-like, as he laid his head against the cool wood of the floor, wishing it would just swallow all of his grief, and clinging onto it as though it was the only thing keeping him from falling over the precipice. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..._

-/\-

Two hours later, Julian stepped out of the bedroom, his tears long since dried, but his eyes were still unmistakably red, and his gait was stiff and awkward, having come out without the aid of his crutches. He didn't mind the extra effort though; it was something to focus his mind on. Nowadays he relished anything that would occupy his mind for a mere few minutes, anything to stop him from drowning in his thoughts.

Brooke paused in collecting the glasses from the evening, offering him a smile. "Hey, Julian."

He tried to smile back, really, he did, but he couldn't force the sentiment. Brooke appreciated the effort. At least he was trying. "Do you want something to eat? I didn't come and ask when we were eating, because I didn't want to disturb you."

Julian shook his head stiffly. "No. Thank you. I'm not hungry."

Brooke put the glasses back down, turning to face Julian with a sigh. "You're never hungry Julian." She ran her eyes over his body, noting the gaunt face, and the way his clothes hung from him a little more loosely. "You look so thin." She took a step towards him, hands laced together, fingers tapping as she thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Julian asked. He could always tell when she was thinking, and when she was unsure about it. She'd hold her hands just as she was now, fingers thrumming with indecision, her mouth turned down slightly, just at the corners. And he always knew when she'd made her mind up, when her face set in determination.

"When Peyton first suggested it, I was completely against the idea," she started slowly, not giving anything away at first, but Julian already knew what she was talking about, and his face shut down instantly, "but please, you have to understand how _worried _I am about you. I just want you to feel safe again. To feel happy." She paused, taking a steadying breath. "I think...I think we should find you someone to talk to. A therapist, or counsellor. Just to talk-"

"And what good will talking do?" Julian interrupted. His voice wasn't raised, but it was low, sounding almost deadly.

"You haven't talked to me about it," Brooke said, coming up to him and placing a hand on his arm. He didn't shrug her off, but he didn't react to it, either. She wasn't sure if he even felt it, if her touch got through this stubborn outer shell he'd put up. "You haven't talked to anyone about it."

"I told the police."

"That's not the same thing Julian. It's not enough."

"Then what do you want from me?" His voice raised now, sounding scratchy and hoarse, thick with unshed tears. He threw his hands up in the air in his exasperation, leaning against the wall for some support.

"I just want to help you, Julian." She went to reach out for him again, and hid her sob when he took a few clumsy steps backwards, widening the space between them. "Julian, listen to me. You need help to deal with this."

"I _am _dealing with this."

Brooke couldn't stop her temper from flaring in frustration. "No you're not! Tell me Julian, just how exactly are you dealing with it? By not eating? By not sleeping? By waking up screaming when you doze off for just a few minutes?" Julian covered his ears with his hands, shaking his head, his lips murmuring in protest, _no no no. _"By not speaking? It's not just the accident; you barely speak to me _at all_."

"Stop it!" Julian cried, a shiver causing his fingers to tremble. He couldn't look at Brooke; his eyes darted around the room, not settling, before they were drawn to a soft oscillating glow, captured and held by a candle's flame. His eyes widened, staring into the tiny blaze.

"No, Julian! You need to see this! You can't even remember everything that happened. That alone shows that something is wrong."

"I remember," Julian whispered, but Brooke didn't hear. As he stared at the flame, weaving and dancing and flickering, it brought back flashes of memory. He wasn't near the candle, but he could feel a heat creeping up his skin; he could remember a blistering scorch and a fiery inferno as he lay, his head swimming, voices twisting, hands clawing, grabbing at him...

_Tires screeching, horns blaring, and the sickening crunch of metal folding in on itself. The world spun in dizzying turns, windows shattering and the glass shards raining down and falling against him, slicing through his skin or deflecting off his coat. The car lost momentum eventually, drawing the chaotic spinning to an end, and after a few shuddering jolts, the car grew still, wheels spinning in the air, alarm blaring. His hearing became muffled and muted, as though he were underwater, his limbs swimming through something too thick and too heavy to move. Julian lay across the car's ceiling, too weak to comprehend what was going on, let alone do anything, his leg caught between seats at an awkward angle, confused eyes staring out into devastation._

"...you're distant. Half the time it's like you're not even there!" Brooke cried, ripping Julian from his memory, whose mind was now frozen in a state of terror and fear and confusion.

His hands were still on his face, his fingers digging in harshly into hair and flesh as he tried to get a hold, tried to understand, but Brooke wouldn't let him, she kept shouting and shouting and _why was she shouting? _

"I've tried to be patient," Brooke continued, "tried to give you time, but I can't stand by any longer and watch you slowly destroy yourself. You're fading away Julian, and I won't let you do that."

"What have I done?" Julian asked, mind gripped in a half-state of bewilderment and chaos. "I'm not fading away; I'm still here!"

Brooke's eyes took in Julian's state - his wide eyes, open in an almost manic demeanour, his hair in a state of disarray, the way his hands trembled violently yet still retained a vice grip on himself. She'd set something off inside of him, she knew, triggered something, and as she watched his lips moving, forming words that never reached her ears, she knew that right now he wasn't fully in the present. She felt ashamed at the tremor of fear that ran through her. "Julian," she whispered, voice softer, "let me help you." She placed her arms on his shoulders, but the instant her fingertips made contact with fabric Julian jumped back in surprise, letting out a scream, his hands lashing out. "Julian!" she shouted, trying to get through to him, trying to get a hold of his wrists so she could stop his flailing arms, but her grasp only seemed to frighten him more - he didn't see her delicate fingers around his wrists, but the scarred, calloused hands of those of his attackers. With a cry of fear, he yanked his arms out of her grip and pushed her away too harshly. The strength of the force sent Brooke tumbling downwards, stumbling over her own feet, her head scraping the coffee table's corner as she fell against the floor with a heavy thud. A stunned silence pervaded the air, creeping into every crevice as for an agonizing heartbeat, they stared into each other's eyes, fear and confusion and pain reflecting back at each other. Brooke raised a shaking hand to her forehead, in which a spiking ache had already set in, and her fingers came back bloody. She looked slowly from her hand to Julian, his face a picture of anguish.

"Brooke," he started, but his voice broke, the words betraying him as his mind fell into a cold state of shock.

Brooke got to her feet on unsteady legs and backed away slowly. Julian watched helplessly, heartbrokenly, as she turned away and fled out the door, only pausing to grab her coat, running into the rain, the droplets mixing with her tears. She didn't look back.

-/\-

Julian poured another drink, the liquid burning his throat on the way down, hot and bitter. He stared through the glass, past the grain of the desk, into the thread of the carpet, but he didn't see any of those. He saw the littered floor of the alleyway, the graffitied walls with ripping posters, sagging with age and moisture. A flash of metal, once, twice, pain in his arm, in his neck. A blow to the head and he's on the floor, laying beneath the fallen stool, not remembering how he got there. He didn't bother to get up. What was the point? He'd only down another glass, let the alcohol steal away another inhibition. He was waiting for the drink to the numb him, but all it did was slur his senses, and let loose the ramshackle barriers that had been keeping his thoughts at bay. He went to dark places in his mind, staring up at the ceiling as he'd stared at the floor of the cab, blackened and crumpled from force and fire. He saw Brooke's face, twisted with hurt and betrayal and tears, and it cut him deeper than any thought of the accident. He couldn't believe what he'd done, couldn't believe he'd _hurt _her; he hadn't meant to, but what good was that? It didn't matter where intentions lay, or motives hid, or excuses danced. All that mattered was that he'd hurt the woman he loved with every tiny fibre of his being, every cell of his body, hurt her in every way possible. He couldn't see a way back from this, couldn't see how she could ever possibly forgive him. _I don't deserve to be forgiven. _His cheeks were flushed with alcohol and shame, guilt laboring his breaths. Any pain left over from the accident was overridden by remorse and exhaustion. Not the kind that could be staved off by naps or remedied by sleep, but a tiredness so heavy it weighed on his soul; it was set so deep in his bones he couldn't remember what it felt like to feel _alive_. The only thing keeping him clinging onto awareness was the ache in his knee, brought back to the forefront by the fall, the pain eventually chasing away alcohol's effects and sobering him as it grew in intensity, inducing a moment of clarity. He never wanted to see Brooke's face like that, so wounded and betrayed._ It's only going to get worse from here._ He wanted to promise himself that he'd _never _hurt Brooke again, not in any way. But conflict and doubt twisted his heart, uncertainty clouding his idealized pledge, not sure if he could live up to it. Seconds of indecision and tumbling thoughts slurred into minutes of hesitations, until he made his mind up. He knew that by taking this course of action, it would hurt her initially, but with this, he'd never be in a position to hurt her ever again. _It's my happiness for hers._


	7. Runaway

**_I am so sorry for how long this chapter took...I didn't realize it had been so long since I last updated. I thought I'd have more time to update when summer hit, but apparently not; it's just been one thing after another. At least, I hope this was worth the wait._**

* * *

><p><strong>Runaway<strong>

"_I have this feeling that I'd finally find the words to say, but I can't tell you if you turn around and runaway." - Runaway, Maroon 5._

Small rivulets of blood mixed with the rain and her tears, painting her cheek a pale pinkish-red. The wind was relentlessly icy and it whipped her hair and twisted it, strands sticking to her face, but she made no effort to drag them away. Pummeled by the elements, Brooke walked on through the early darkness, the autumn night drawing in quickly, not caring where her feet took her. Her thoughts were in disarray, her emotions numbed down into a state of shock. _He __didn__'__t __do __it __on __purpose, __right? __It __was __just __an __accident..._she couldn't believe him to be capable of such a meanness, yet his silent suffering had made him grow into a hollow version of himself that Brooke didn't recognize. It made her doubt, and she tried to force herself not to, but it was too late. The seed of uncertainty had been planted, and now it coloured every memory, every thought, causing herself to question everything. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice when a car pulled up against the sidewalk, didn't blink an eye when a voice called her name desperately. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and was spun round to face its owner.

"Brooke?" Peyton questioned, her breath slightly ragged from her sprint. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Brooke didn't know whether she was disappointed or relieved that it wasn't Julian who had come running after her. When she shook her head that no, she wasn't okay, the sharp pang made her realize that she was partly glad that it wasn't Julian. She didn't think she could face him right now, knowing they'd both likely say things they'd regret. "Julian." She could only get one word out before her tears took over again and she broke down in Peyton's arms, shivering violently from the cold and the shock and the grief of it all.

"Come on, let's get you inside," Peyton said, gently leading Brooke to her car and making the short drive to her place. Not long after, the two were sat on Peyton's couch, Brooke wrapped up in a thick blanket to try and chase away the cold. Her hair was dripping, soaking Peyton's fingers as she tried to wipe off the drying blood and clean up Brooke's forehead. "It's pretty much stopped bleeding now. It doesn't look that bad; just a scrape." She turned to put the tissues to the side as Brooke mumbled a quiet thank you. When she was facing Brooke once more, Peyton's face was set in determination. "So, are you going to tell me what happened then?"

"It's nothing, I think I overreacted really-"

"Brooke," Peyton said sternly, cutting through her friend's hurried words, "you were wandering around in the cold and the rain, bleeding. It's not nothing."

"You said it yourself, it's only a small cut," Brooke said dismissively.

Peyton said nothing, but stared at Brooke pointedly. As the two quickly lapped into silence, she asked quietly, "Did Julian hit you?"

"No!" Brooke exclaimed, jumping slightly, outraged at the thought, before she sank back into the couch as realization dawned and that niggling doubt wormed its way in again. "Well, not really. He didn't hit me. He sort of...pushed me."

"He pushed you?" Peyton echoed, eyebrows raising in grim surprise.

"Yeah, but it's not what you're thinking!" Brooke protested. "He didn't know it was me." She paused, glancing at Peyton's confused expression with a heavy sigh. "We got into an argument, and he got all panicked and scared. I tried to calm him down, but every time I touched him he just freaked out. He tried to push me away, and that's when I tripped and fell."

Peyton put a hand on Brooke's back, rubbing soothing circles into the fabric of the blanket. "What happened next?"

"I just ran," Brooke admitted brokenly. "I shouldn't have...I should have stayed, and talked to him, or _something_. Running is probably the worst thing I could have done. I just wasn't _thinking_." She let her head fall into her hands, despair pouring out from her. "I provoked him. I was _shouting _at him! But I just couldn't help myself, you know? I was so _frustrated_; I just wanted to get through to him. But all I did was make it worse."

-/\-

Julian pulled the sheet from the printer before the ink even had the time to dry, folding it up roughly and shoving it into his pocket. He ran back into the bedroom where a duffel bag lay open on the bed, half empty. He rushed around the room as quickly as his crutches would allow him, throwing things in, trying to fill the bag to its limit. He knew he couldn't come back to get the rest, so he'd have to take as much with him now as possible. In went his clothes, his toiletries, all crammed in. He went to grab his watch from his bedside table and paused, the timepiece sitting innocently beside a wooden frame which held a photo of Brooke and himself, in happier times. Her smile was bright and his was true; both sets of eyes were sparkling with promise and hope of a wonderful future. He lifted the frame carefully, as though it would disintegrate in his fingers, just like his life had done, studying it quietly for a moment before placing it in his bag, zipping it up harshly. He shrugged on his coat and hauled the bag over his shoulders before sliding his hands into the crutches and walking stiffly from the room. When he stood beneath the open doorway of the house, he took one last look behind him, remembering briefly all the happy, precious moments that had occurred under this roof. The thoughts almost swayed his resolve, but he swallowed thickly and turned away, shutting the door and walking out into the rain. _It__'__s __for __the __best._

-/\-

"You can't blame yourself for this!" Peyton exclaimed, struggling to keep her voice level. "Julian is _sick_. He needs help, the kind of help that you can't give. You've _tried_, and look where that's gotten you? A harsh shove and a-"

"Stop it," Brooke interjected, her voice almost a hiss. "It was _not _his fault. He was scared and confused. How can you condemn him, after what he's been through?"

"And how can you defend him, after what he's _done to you?_" Peyton shot back. "And I'm not just talking about this" - she gestured in Brooke's direction, indicating the scrape on her forehead - "but everything else as well. How you've both been living, it's not _healthy _Brooke." Peyton laid her hands on Brooke's wrists, leaning forward in her eagerness. "It's been destroying your relationship, and you can't fix things on your own."

"I know!" Brooke said curtly, staring at Peyton. "But this isn't the real Julian. He'd _never _hit me, never hurt me, not if he was in his right mind." As she spoke, her voice grew with the strength of her conviction as her head cleared, making more sense of the situation. "He loves me, I know he does." She froze suddenly, lips falling apart slightly in a gasp.

"Brooke?" Peyton queried, observing the sudden change in behaviour.

Brooke threw off the blanket, rising to her feet and rushing over to where her coat lay drying across the radiator. She picked it up, hands fumbling in the pocket. She pulled the ring box out with shaking fingers, her eyes entranced on the tatty, blood stained piece, and turned to face Peyton slowly. "He was going to propose."

"What?" Peyton stood up, eyebrows raised.

"He was going to propose," Brooke repeated, louder this time. She raised her eyes to meet Peyton's, wide with urgency as she gave a hurried account of how she found the ring. "I hadn't said anything about it to Julian. He never mentioned it...I thought maybe he'd forgotten, after everything that had happened. I was going to ask him about it, but there was never a right time..." Her fingers gripped the box, rigid with the determination that boiled through her veins. "I can't abandon him." She pulled the now only slightly damp coat back on, and put the ring box back in the pocket. "Peyton, please can you drive me home?"

Peyton - her expression somewhat softened now due to the new revelation - nodded, swiftly grabbing her keys and following Brooke out of the door.

-/\-

"He's not here," Brooke cried, after scouring the house. "Where could he have gone?" Panic began to creep into her voice, the weight of his absence settling heavily on her shoulders.

"Is anything missing?" Peyton asked, eyes glancing around the room.

The implications of Peyton's words hit her hard, and Brooke felt the first sting of a tear prick in the corners of her eyes. She tried to get a hold of herself, _breathe, __just __focus; __I __need __to __concentrate __for __Julian__'__s __sake. _After a few minutes of searching, she was starting to feel sick with fear and dread; the worry was so constricting she felt like she would suffocate soon.

Peyton saw this, and tried to calm her. "Listen Brooke, don't start panicking yet. He couldn't have gone far. We just gotta think where he could be."

"I don't know, I don't know!" Brooke ran her hands through her hair, fingers quivering between her locks. "I don't know whether he'd stay close, or go back to New York, or his parents, or-"

"Brooke!" Peyton took hold of Brooke by the shoulders, and gave her a shake. "If you start hyperventilating and pass out, you won't be able to help him. Just calm down, and have a think while I call Nathan and Haley, see if they've seen of heard anything of him, okay?"

"Okay," Brooke nodded numbly, as Peyton stepped away to the make the call. She continued glancing around the room as she thought, hoping for some scrap of a clue, some hint to reveal itself to her. Just as she was losing her fragile grip on rationality, a flashing light caught her eye. She walked over to the printer, eyes fixated on that small beacon. She tapped the screen, and allowed hope to well up inside of her, a fluttery feeling that made her breaths deeper as she hit reprint, staring impatiently at the device as the page inched out. She grabbed the page, the paper creasing beneath the force of her iron grip. "I know where he is."

Peyton turned. "What?"

Brooke waved the paper frantically. "I know where he is! He booked a ticket for the 10 o'clock train to New York!"

"I'll call you later," Peyton said quickly, ending the call and approaching Brooke to read the sheet that held such vital information. They glanced at the clock, shared a look, and ran out of the house without saying a word.

-/\-

Julian waited on the platform of the train station, seated on a bench with his duffel bag beside him, a take-away coffee cup warming his hands. The rain had ceased, and all traces of daylight had now long passed - the sky was thick with tension, with rolling clouds blocking out the stars, making the moon's ethereal glow appear almost sinister. There was a heaviness about the air that promised yet more rain, but the kind that promised rebirth, a washing away of sins. Redemption. Julian stared upwards into the nervous, suffocating sky, hoping to find some semblance of calm, the icy air momentarily staining his breaths white in front of him as he sighed. Conflict still raged within him; he wanted nothing more than to be selfish and stay with Brooke, but he knew he was hurting her. And that, he couldn't live with.

The platform was mostly empty, just a few lost, wayward souls hanging around, almost as if in Limbo, waiting to take their grief somewhere else. Just as the first few drops of rain began to crash down, Julian heard the unmistakable _click-clacking _of wheels, and tore his gaze from the heavens to stare into the distance, his eyes just making out the glimmer of the train's light breaking through the encroaching fog. Indecision still burning through him like a fever, he hesitated in reaching for his crutches, but was dragged from his reveries when a cold droplet splashed against his cheek, reminding him of Brooke's pained tears as she fled the house little more than an hour ago. A deep ache in his chest arose at the memory, and, wearily, he threw his coffee cup into the nearby trashcan and picked up his crutches, slowly rising to his feet and taking hold of his bag. He noted sadly how close the train was now, _just __a __minute __or __so __before __I __leave. __Leave __Tree __Hill, __leave __Brooke..._

-/\-

"How much further?" Brooke asked anxiously, eyes narrowed as she peered through the windows, trying to make out the world outside between the fog and the rain.

"Just a few minutes." Peyton glanced at car's clock. 9:57. "Don't worry Brooke. We'll get there in time." She tried to force optimism into her words, but they sounded flat and stale, even to her. She pressed the accelerator down a notch more, going as fast as she dared in these conditions. _It__'__s __at __least __another __10 __minutes __till __the __station. __Please, __let __the __train __be __late. _She turned to Brooke briefly, plastering a reassuring smile on her face. "We'll make it."

-/\-

The train rolled to a stop in front of him, its brakes screaming in protest, steam emitting from the machinery, the carriages shuddering reluctantly to a halt. Julian waited as the doors slid open to release a few passengers; he was in no hurry at all. Every step he took felt heavy and forced, unnatural, like he was going against his reason for existence, rewriting his fate. _I__'__m __sorry, __Brooke. _He looked into the distance, wistfully perceiving the glowing lights of Tree Hill that lit the landscape like fallen stars, before stepping onto the train.

-/\-

"I don't see him!" Brooke shrieked. She spun around wildly, the rain cascading around her, droplets sliding down her skin. She ran into the small reception, drawn like a moth to the small, incandescent light, banging her hands on the glass to attract the attention of the man sat behind it. "Please," she cried, her voice almost breaking on the word, "has the train to New York arrived yet?"

"It's been and gone." The man shrugged indifferently.

Brooke raised her eyes heavenward in brief despair. "Did you see who got on? Please, it's important."

"No, I didn't. Are you going to buy a ticket or what?"

"No. No, I'm not," Brooke said quietly, stepping away and slowly walking back out onto the platform where Peyton stood waiting. "He's gone." Her voice was a whisper, muted and heartbroken. "I can't believe he's gone."

"Oh Brooke." Peyton put her arms around her, pulling her close. "This isn't the end. There's-"

"He left me!" Brooke interrupted, her voice high and strained. Loud sobs overtook her, shaking her frame. "How could he leave me?"

"I didn't leave you, Brooke."

The two women were silenced immediately; Brooke pulled out of Peyton's embrace sharply, head whipping in the direction of the voice. Julian stepped out of the shadows near the end of the platform. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave you, Brooke."

Her heart pounding wildly with joy and overwhelming emotion, Brooke ran, the rain splashing about her heels as her pace increased. "Julian!"

"Brooke." He started towards her, his expression remorseful, begging for absolution. When the two were close enough, Brooke threw her arms around Julian, holding onto him desperately, as if he would dissolve between her fingers if she let go.

"I was so scared, Julian. I thought I'd lost you."

A clatter echoed around the platform as Julian's crutches fell to the floor; he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her closer. He'd kissed her forehead, breathed in her scent, taking in every little detail about the woman he never thought he'd see again. "I'm sorry, Brooke. I ju-"

"No, don't. It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. I need to say this," Julian protested, loosening his grip on her just enough so they could look at one another. "I thought you'd be better off without me. I didn't want to hurt you anymore, so I left. Only I couldn't. I got onto this train, and the only thing I could think about was you. And that was when I realized that I couldn't be without you. You're the only thing that makes sense in my life anymore."

Brooke allowed a smile to pull up her lips, leaning in close. "I'm so glad you didn't leave." And with that, she pressed her lips to his in a tender kiss. It tasted of coffee and their tears and the rain, droplets soaking into their hair and clinging hesitantly to lowered lashes; it felt like nothing and everything all at once, a moment to be preserved and looked back upon fondly in decaying days, or a piece of forever encapsulated in a kiss. Their lips meshed together in a silent promise of fortitude, the tang of regret now merely a bitter aftertaste of an earlier misfortune, washed down now with the sticky honey of hope. It felt like a small eternity later when they broke apart, staring into each other's eyes, their breaths warming the air between them.

"Please don't ever scare me like that again," Brooke said seriously. She rested her head against his shoulder, oblivious to the elements raging around them, indulging in the intoxicating feeling of being held by the man she loved.

"I won't," Julian murmured, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. "I promise. I'll get better baby, I'll _be _better."

Brooke's hands gripped the fabric of Julian's coat, a chill settling in. "I just want you to be _you _again." As an afterthought, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out the ring box, pressing it gently into Julian's hands. Julian stared at it, eyes wide with recollection, relief and reflection. He stared at it for a long while, before looking up to Brooke with an uncertain expression. She cupped his face in her hands, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Yes, I'll marry you."

* * *

><p><strong><em>I hope you liked this, and if you have the time, please review :)<em>**


End file.
